Wednesday, September 30, 2015

During
the early-to-mid 1980s, Dig Dugand Mr. Do!inspired a number of tunnel-digging
imitators, including Sega’s obscure Thunderground
(1983) for the Atari 2600 and First Star Software’s popular Boulder Dash (1984) for a variety of
consoles and computers. One of the more blatant copycats was Windmill
Software’s Digger, a Canadian
computer game developed by Rob Sleath in 1983 for the IBM PC.

Guiding
a motorized Digger Mobile around the screen, players tunnel underground to
scoop up emeralds (similar to the cherries in Mr. Do!), creating mazes in the process. As you gather emeralds,
little creatures called Nobbins will chase you through the maze pathways.
Impatient Nobbins sometimes turn into Hobbins, which can burrow through maze
walls (similar to the monsters in Mr. Do!).
You can throw a rock bullet at the enemies (similar to the ball in Mr. Do!, but it doesn’t bounce around),
but it takes a few seconds for the Digger Mobile to reload once a bullet has
been fired.

Digger is clearly more of a Mr. Do! clone than a Dig Dug wannabe. This is especially
evident regarding bags of gold that are positioned at various points around the
screen. These are like the apples in Mr.
Do! (as opposed to the rocks in Dig
Dug) in that you can push them across the screen. And you can walk under
the bags of gold to drop them on enemies, while making sure to get out of the
way so you don’t get crushed. One thing that sets Digger apart from both of its more famous progenitors is that
dropped bags break open to reveal gold that you can scoop up for extra points,
a welcome feature.

Monsters
in Digger spawn from the top/right corner
of the screen. After you kill a certain number of monsters, a special prize cherry
will appear in this area. If you grab the prize, you can turn the tables on the
enemies for approximately 15 seconds (which decreases in later rounds of play).
As such, the monsters will now run away from you, a la the ghosts in Pac-Man. The current level ends when
you’ve grabbed all the emeralds or killed all the monsters, another nod to Mr. Do!

Unlike
Mr. Do!, there are no letters
spelling out EXTRA for an extra life. However, you do get an extra life for
every 20,000 points you score.

Compared
to the original Digger computer game,
the ColecoVision port plays about the same, but there are some visual simplifications.
The playfield for the ColecoVision game is colored with thick vertical stripes
while the original has a more textured look with thin, wavy, and diagonal lines.
The multi-colored Digger Mobile, Nobbins, and Hobbins of the computer
semi-classic have been replaced by mono-colored versions of same, which once
again evokes Mr. Do! as the arcade
version had multi-colored characters while the ColecoVision port had mono-colored
characters.

Like
many video games, both versions of Digger
make use of classic musical compositions. During the standard action,“Popcorn” by
Gershon Kingsley plays. After you grab the bonus prize, you’ll hear Gioachino
Rossini’s “William Tell Overture.” When you get killed by a monster or squashed
by a bag of gold, Frédéric Chopin’s “Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat Minor” (a.k.a.
“The Funeral March”) will commemorate your death, complemented by a gravestone
that rises from the ground.

Regarding
sound effects, when you gather up emeralds in the ColecoVision port, it sounds
exactly like picking cherries in the ColecoVision version of Mr. Do!

Overall,
Digger is a cute, challenging game
that sounds good and will entertain most any maze fan. It has solid controls,
smooth difficulty progression, and a few differences (including altered enemy A.I.) that set it apart from similar
games. Even though I’ve played a variety of tunnel-digging games countless
times, I find myself playing Digger
again and again to try and beat my high score.

Since
Mr. Do! is readily available on the
ColecoVision (it’s one of the more common post-launch titles and is only worth
around $8 loose), Digger, which is
packaged in an retro-style box with instruction manual, isn’t exactly a must-own
for the system. However, collectors and diehard fans of the genre will want to hop
online and grab a copy.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

During
the early-to-mid 1980s, when I was in high school, I was a terrible student. I
wasn’t a slow learner, and I wasn’t disruptive, I was just preoccupied with things
I thought were more fun than studying, such as basketball, video games, and the
opposite sex. My senior year I nearly flunked English, which is ironic
considering the fact that I now write for a living.

Along
with shooting hoops, shooting alien invaders, and shooting the breeze with any
good looking girl who would talk to me, I loved rock music, an obsession that
went beyond merely listening to records in my room and blasting the radio in my
car. My friends and I were addicting to the experience of seeing and hearing
our favorite bands live and in person.

Between
1982 and 1985, the year I graduated, we went to more than 30 bigtime,
arena-based shows, including such popular acts as Elton John, Stevie Nicks,
Iron Maiden, Styx, Bon Jovi, Eric Clapton, Dire Straits, and Foreigner. We also
sat out in the boiling heat every summer at the Texxas Jam (a.k.a. the Texxas
World Music Festival). Hosted by the Cotton Bowl in Dallas, the Texxas Jam was
the type of post-Woodstock, post-Altamont, one-day event that grew out the
early ’70s, when cities began outlawing weekend-long festivals.

Just
as merely listening to music wasn’t adequate, going to concerts didn’t quite
fulfill our rock and roll fantasies, so my friends and I started hanging around
after shows to try and meet the bands, a strategy that, surprisingly enough,
was highly effective. On one particularly memorable occasion in 1986, we
followed Ozzy Osbourne’s tour bus about half-an-hour outside of Fort Worth to a
greasy spoon called The Iron Skillet. While the roadies transferred the luggage
and other supplies to another bus, Ozzy, his band--including guitarist Jake E.
Lee, who had taken the place of the recently deceased legend, Randy Rhoads--and a couple
of security guys went inside. We stalkers followed closely behind.

As
Ozzy entered the restaurant, a waitress who was a dead-ringer for Florence Jean
Castleberry from the TV show Alice
exclaimed, “Ozzy Osbourne! Ozzy Osbourne! Oh my gawd! Ozzy Obsbourne in my
restaurant!” She proceeded to fawn and fuss over Ozzy and his bandmates, making
a big show of getting their autographs: “Ozzy Osbourne! Ozzy Osbourne!” (This
was decades before The Osbournes TV
show, but the “Prince of Darkness” was a household name even then, thanks in
part to several infamous events, including biting the head off a dove during a
press conference and urinating on the Alamo.)

We
approached Ozzy as well, but we were far too nervous and too “cool” to hoot and
holler and otherwise make a big fuss, so we simply and sheepishly asked the
former Black Sabbath singer if we could have his autograph, and if we could
take a picture with him (in those days before everyone had a phone in their
pocket, we always made sure to take a loaded camera with us to concerts). Ozzy,
appearing dazed and confused—the word “sobriety” was not yet a part of his
vocabulary—complied, and we had a great story to tell at work the next week,
with photographic proof of our encounter.

Part
of what made the story great is that I brazenly asked Ozzy as he was leaving
the restaurant if he wanted to play Pac-Man
(as with many establishments of the era, there was a mini-arcade in the lobby).
Unfortunately, the “Godfather of Heavy Metal” declined, saying in his
distinctly British accent, “I don’t play.”

During
that golden age of metal, my concert buddies and I also met the guys in
Metallica, W.A.S.P., Ratt, and Queensryche, along with frontman Paul Stanley
and drummer Eric Carr from KISS. This was when the band was touring without
their patented makeup for the first time. Needless to say, we got their
autographs and snapped photos.

Regrettably,
during the late 1990s, when eBay was new and exciting, I sold all my autographs,
which were on scraps of paper we scrounged from hotels and restaurants—we rockers
apparently weren’t savvy enough to bring albums or something more substantial
to sign. I sold Ozzy Osbourne’s signature for $50, Paul Stanley’s for $35, and Eric
Carr’s for $50. (The reason Carr’s autograph brought more than the more famous Stanley
is that Carr, Peter Criss’s original replacement, had passed away.)

One
thing I did keep was my collection of concert ticket stubs. This was because I
wanted a record of the shows I had seen. After going through the stubs recently,
it struck me how cheap concerts were three decades ago. My first concert was
Journey on July 8, 1983, which was one month before my 16th
birthday. The price? A paltry $11.00. My next three shows were Robert Plant
(Sept. 22, 1983), $13.50; ZZ Top (Sept. 29, 1983), $13.50; and KISS (Jan. 13,
1984), $13.00.

I
went to many more concerts throughout the 1980s and into the early ’90s, but having
kids and tending to the responsibilities of being a married man slowed my
concert-going considerably by the mid-1990s. Plus, concerts had priced me out
of the market. The first show I wanted to go to, but didn’t because of the
expense was the Eagles Hell Freezes Over Tour, which came to Texas Stadium in
Irving (where the Dallas Cowboys used to play) on July 3, 1994. Tickets were a then-shocking
$50 to $120 each.

I
rarely go to concerts these days (I settle for watching cover bands in
bars—pathetic, I know), and when the Rolling Stones announced a few months ago
that they were coming to the AT&T Stadium in Arlington (where the Dallas
Cowboys now play), I barely gave it a thought, despite the fact that they’re
one of my favorite bands. I knew that the price for a pair of tickets—even in
the nosebleed section—would be enough to pay my electric bill or car payment
for the month.

As
fate would have it, I ended up going to the show anyway, and it was awesome.

Two
weeks before the Stones concert, I called an old friend—one I used to go to
concerts with—to come over and fix my broken garage door, which he did for the
price of lunch at a nearby restaurant. When I mentioned that the Stones were in
town, he said, “Let’s go.” When I told him it was too expensive, he said that if
I would drive and buy food, he would pay for the tickets ($150 each) and the
parking ($50). I quickly agreed, knowing this would probably be my only chance
to see the “World’s Greatest Rock Band,” and being super excited at the
prospect of once again seeing a real rock concert.

Our
seats were near the back of the stadium, but we had a great view of the band,
thanks to giant screens behind the stage. Also, the sound was excellent,
despite the massive size of the venue. I was a little concerned that the Stones
were too old to rock—Mick Jagger and Keith Richards are 71, Ron Wood is 68, and
Charlie Watts is 74—but they are still terrific after more than a half-century
of performing. Watts kept a strong, steady beat on the drums while Richards and
absolutely Woods killed it on guitar. And Jagger was seemingly ageless,
prancing about the stage the entire show like a man in his 20s, his voice as
strong as it was during the 1970s.

In
short, I thoroughly enjoyed the show, so much so that if the Stones were to
come back next year, I would strongly consider going again—even if I had to buy
my own ticket.

While
I do indeed have another rock concert under my belt, I don’t have another ticket
stub in my collection—our tickets were printed out on computer paper. This got
me to pondering the collectability of vintage ticket stubs. The next day after
the show, I hopped on eBay and did some searching of completed auctions, only
to discover that ticket stubs from the 1980s are only worth around $3 to $10
each, depending on the band, the condition, and a few other factors.

So
I’ll probably just hang on to my old ticket stubs because the memories are
worth far more than the money I could make on them. I may even keep the
computer printout for the Rolling Stones concert as well. After all, it’s not
every day that I get to go to a rock concert, especially one featuring a
legendary band.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Guest blogger Spencer Blohm drops by BrettWeissWordsofWonder with another article. Take it away, Spencer!

Patrick Stewart and Blunt
Talk

Let it be so.

Just like that, Sir Patrick
Stewart jumped from the stage of Hamlet to hamming it up viral Internet
videos. Stewart has been acting since the ripe young age of 15, enthralling
audiences in Shakespearian dramas as well as on screen in Star Trek: The Next Generation and the popular X-Men series. He’s
heretofore been largely averse to comedy.

That is, until recently. Now
in his seventies, Stewart has decided to disseminate his charm across all forms
of social media, doing so with the help fellow X-Men cast member and
distinguished member of the British Empire, Sir Ian McKellen. Participating
off-the-wall skits for late-night comedy shows and voicing characters on Seth
MacFarlane hits Family Guy and American Dad!, Stewart has found a
second life embracing his funny bone.

In Blunt Talk, the second pairing of Stewart and MacFarlane
begs the question, why comedy and why now? Stewart seems not to be overthinking
it. Even in the face of absurdism, Patrick Stewart
follows one basic rule. "I just believe
in saying the lines with conviction," he says. In a recent interview with Time, Stewart said that he enjoyed working with
MacFarlane and doing the outrageous bits and voice-over work. It was a
no-brainer when MacFarlane came to Stewart with a live-action sitcom.

Blunt Talk is written by Jonathan Ames, best known for
his series Bored to Death. Inspired by journalists like Piers Morgan
(and a healthy dose of Orwell), Ames formulated the premise of the show and
wrote the part of Walter Blunt specifically for Stewart. Before one scene was
even shot, Starz saw the potential and ordered two full seasons.

In the role of Blunt, a
British journalist and former soldier who comes to America for a shot at cable news
stardom, Stewart comes in full force. In the wild premiere episode, Patrick
Stewart/Walter Blunt makes headlines himself when he goes on a bender and
assaults a police after being caught with a transvestite prostitute (among
other things). Instead of reporting the news, he quickly finds his own face on
cable news channels and among Bill O’Reilly’s talking points.

Further antic ensure when we
meet the rest of zany people in Walter Blunt's life. His right-hand man is
Harry Chandler, a fellow soldier who was under Blunt's command. Actor Adrian
Scarborough fills in this role - in the States, he may not be well-known, but
Scarborough has been acting on British television for a while now. The rest of the cast is
rounded out by Blunt's news team and various lackeys.

So far, Season One is
admittedly a bit perplexing. While the novelty of watching Patrick Stewart
not-act quite like Patrick Stewart is fun at first, it taps itself out within
the first 15 minutes. Seeing the refined and dignified actor chatting up a
sexually ambiguous hookers and aiming vitriol at ex-wives is a change of pace,
and not a totally unwelcome one - but in the hands of Ames and McFarlane something
is amiss. The concept of a big-name actor behaving badly has been done before,
and even though audiences love nothing more than watching a superstar’s career
crumble, this show misses the mark. But it is by no fault of Stewart. He could
charm his way out of a snake pit.

With two seasons already
ordered, MacFarlane and Stewart still have time to find their groove and settle
in for a long ride. The first two episodes (streaming on Starz, check with your satellite tv provider for details)
have, if nothing else, whet our appetites for more Stewart, and ignited hopes
that he might be able to turn this into something worthy of his prodigious
talents.

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About Me

A freelance writer, I'm the author of the Classic Home Video Games series, The 100 Greatest Console Video Games: 1977-1987, Encyclopedia of KISS, and other books. I've had articles published in numerous magazines and newspapers, including the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Filmfax, Fangoria, AntiqueWeek, The Writer, Mystery Scene, and more.
Contact me at brettw105 AT sbcglobal.net.